Page:Poems Davidson.djvu/84

Where Rathmond, with a heart of woe,
Had gazed. on lost Chicomico,
There, on that spot, the prophet's eye
Marked the young warrior's farewell sigh.

"Why lingerest thou here, Young Eagle," he cried,
"The foe 'neath the fern and the dark hazel hide!
Blood, blood! be our war-cry, for vengeance is theirs!
Their arrows are winged by despair and by fears!
When the last of the tribe of Hillis-ad-joe
Hath plunged him beneath the deep waters below,
Thy heart shall possess all it wishes for here,
Unchilled by a sigh, unbedewed by a tear!
But till then, cold and vacant thy bosom shall be,
And the idol to which thou hast bended thy knee,
Shall mark thee, and love thee, in peril and woe,
Yet till then that dear being thou never shalt know!"

"What mean'st thou, prophet of the eagle-eye,
By thy mysterious prophecy?
Well knowest thou that yon bloody chief
Doomed her to death, and me to grief!
That round that form the wild flames rolled
And wafted far her angel soul!.
Why didst thou mot arrest the brand?
For, prophet, fate was in thy hand."

"'Tis well," the Indian calmly said,
"'Tis well," and bowed to earth his head;
"But," he exclaimed, with eye less grave,
"I left a skiff on yonder wave—